A Helping Hand
by TT-5
Summary: Just a short missing scene from Funk Hole that I would have loved to seen in the actual show.


A/N: Funk Hole is one of my favourite episodes, it is filled with so many wonderful scenes between Andrew and Foyle but I couldn't resist adding one more.

Thanks to LauraRaposa for editing this for me and I hope you enjoy it :)

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"Bugger!"

The loud curse that emanated from his son's bedroom caused Christopher Foyle to quicken his pace down the upstairs hallway of their home on Steep Lane. It didn't take a Detective Chief Superintendent to know something was amiss, but he knocked lightly on the door and asked, "Andrew, is everything alright?"

There was a loud sigh, the sound of movement, and then another muffled cry.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Foyle frowned, knocked again and spoke louder. "Andrew? What's happened?"

"It's just this bloody sling, Dad."

The frustration in his son's voice was evident, but it was the undercurrent of pain that worried him. "May I come in?"

He heard Andrew sigh again. "Yes, yes, alright."

Foyle pushed open the door to find an annoyed Andrew in a struggle with his pajama top. His trousers were on, his thick brown hair unbrushed. He turned as his father came in.

"It's stupid really. I can fly a bloody Spit against the Luftwaffe, but right now I can't even dress myself. Just as well that I'm home. Couldn't let the lads see me like this."

Foyle frowned. "Why not?"

_Surely other pilots got injured from time to time_, he thought.

Andrew looked up at him and shook his head. "You don't get it, do you Dad? I'm the oldest, and if the lads saw me hurt it would shake them. They need to be focused on flying, not on what might happen to them if they crash."

"If they do that then our losses go up. Although they're too bloody high already." The last was said much more quietly but Foyle caught it.

The realization of how responsible Andrew felt for the younger men he flew with made Foyle proud and sad in equal measure. At just 22 he was still a boy in his father's eyes but his actions were those of a man; a good man.

Foyle looked up at his son and nodded. "I see. Well, let's get you out of that sling then. Bring your arm up a little and closer to your chest. That's it." As he spoke he carefully drew the sling over Andrew's head, slid it off his arm and placed it on the bed. "Be easiest if you take it off the good arm first. That's it."

Foyle grabbed the clean shirt off the bed while Andrew threw his pajama top into the laundry hamper.

"Now, let's tackle this arm, shall we," asked Foyle as he began to ease the shirt over the bandage on his son's arm. Andrew winced at the movement, causing Foyle to stop and give him a worried look. "Sorry 'bout that."

Andrew shook his head, and smiled thinly. "It's alright."

"Just a little bit more…other arm out…that's it…good. Now, does the bandage need to be seen to?"

Andrew looked down at his arm with trepidation. "I don't think so?"

Foyle looked up as he buttoned Andrew's shirt to glance at the dressing. It looked clean with no obvious signs of infection – something he was told by the doctor to keep an eye on. "Bandage not too tight?"

Andrew wiggled his fingers easily and shook his head. "Seems fine."

"Right. Well, I'll just knot a tie for you in case you want to go out later, and then I'll start breakfast."

Andrew looked down at his shirt and then at his father who was in middle of tying a Windsor knot. He had been so distracted by his injured arm that he hadn't noticed that his father had buttoned his shirt - just like he did when he was a very little boy. He looked down again suddenly embarrassed that he needed his father's help to dress. "Err, right. Thanks."

He quickly tucked his shirt in, slid on his braces and reached for the sling. As he tried to maneuver into the sling, it caught on his sleeve and jerked his arm. "Damn." The cuss slipped through his lips at the pain.

Foyle who had been on his way out of the bedroom, pivoted and said, "Here, let me do that."

He buttoned Andrew's sleeve before sliding the sling carefully over his arm. "Bring your arm up and in again…that's it…head down a little, Andrew." His son ducked his head obediently and Foyle quickly slipped the sling over his head. "Right. Now, see if that's alright, or if you want it adjusted a bit."

Andrew moved his arm carefully to find a more comfortable position, and quickly realized that it was going to hurt however he held it. He noticed his father watching him with concern in his eyes. "This is fine, Dad."

Foyle looked his son over once more, nodded and headed for the door. "Right. Well, I'd better start on breakfast then."

Andrew nodded. "I'll be down soon. And Dad?"

Foyle paused in the doorway and turned back to his son.

"Thanks."

Foyle nodded and smiled softly. "No trouble, son."

The End


End file.
